brainofck

Title: Black
Author:

muck_a_luck, posting in

brainofck
Pairing: Daniel Jackson/Jack O'Neill
Rating: PG-13 for language, G for other content
Summary: Same crap, different universe. There are some constants no matter where you end up.
Spoilers: Ripple Effect.
Content/warnings: None.
Words: 1,470
Disclaimer: If anybody is planning a script like this for SG-1, I'm certainly not going to claim any rights to it. However, I'd be delighted to work in a co-writing/consulting/first-reader/advisory-type capacity, with my fee to be negotiated at that time. :D
Beta: The incomparable

green_grrl. Thanks for the quick turnaround, chica!
Archive rights: Absolutely none. My journals only.

muck_a_luck and

brainofck
The Matrix: The Matrix is located here. Black.

"It's wrong," Daniel said flatly.

Sam's face had that pinched look she used to sometimes get when she wanted to tell someone to fuck off, particularly Jack, but couldn't because of chain of command or tact, or simple decorum.

"Yeah, well, sometimes the ends do justify the means, Jackson," replied Mitchell, voice strained.

"And that time is today, people," Landry announced, his command strident, harsh, offensive in a way that General Hammond’s had never been, even on the worst days Daniel could remember. "The mission is a go. Colonel Carter, the resources of the base are at your disposal. How soon can you set this up and launch?"

"The calculations are already done, sir," she said, tapping the briefing folder in front of her. "I can probably jury-rig the Gate on PX7-455 in about four hours."

Of course, these were the worst days Daniel could remember. The wormhole engaged and another group of evacuees embarked for one of the remote sites. He swallowed his arguments and his pleas and for once in his long career, took the low road.

When the time came and they were suiting up, Daniel put on black. Teal'c came into their ready room and paused to watch him a long, quiet moment. Then he joined Daniel. By the time the representatives of the US Air Force arrived, Daniel and Teal'c were kitted out.

"T, the mission brief calls for desert camo, buddy. 455's a desert planet..."

Daniel stalked out of the room without a backward glance. With a last snick of a weapon being checked, Teal'c followed him. He heard Mitchell swear faintly behind them.

When Mitchell and Sam arrived in the embarkation room, they were all in black. Shadows of themselves.

Teal'c had been surprisingly quiet since the briefing. Daniel thought perhaps Teal'c was even more disturbed by this op than Daniel was.

Don't tell the psych staff, but sometimes Daniel had conversations with Jack. Not the real Jack, of course. The real Jack had launched every remaining drone in the Antarctic base then stepped into an Ancient sleep chamber and hadn't spoken a word in over three years.

Today, as he stood on PX7-455 waiting for Sam to get everything just right, he asked Jack what he should do. This was wrong. They'd been clamping down on the Trust for years.

"That was different, Daniel," Jack said, weary and regretful, but completely confident. "That was when the conflict was in a permanent holding pattern. The Ori will be here in seven days, maybe less. Maybe the planet will be dead even before you can get back. There's no time left for the moral high ground. You know the stakes. Would you let the entire planet go down just so you could keep your hands clean?"

"But what if it turns out that to save our Earth, we have to sacrifice another Earth entirely? What gives us that right?"

"Nothing," Jack said.

Daniel wanted to make him justify that statement. But the bastard stopped talking to him after that.

They needed information for the mission to have the slightest chance of success and they needed it fast. Laundry said, "Debrief in an hour," and they all went to "their" separate offices straight from the Gateroom. They needed to know where the ZPM was before they could decide what to do next.

Daniel thought, Thank God it's not General O'Neill in this universe. Then he wondered if their Jack was still stuck in Antartica with a dead ZPM and the whole trip was pointless.

But no, the ZPM was in...

"The goddamn fucking Pegasus Galaxy," Mitchell fumed quietly as they completed their physicals. This universe's SG-1 had arrived and it was all being sorted out.

Daniel had found another piece of vital information while exploring his own office. He dialed the number with shaking fingers.

"O'Neill," came the distracted reply.

"I need to talk to you. Privately."

"And hello to you, too, Daniel. This is a secure line."

"Where are you, exactly?" Daniel pressed.

Jack sounded puzzled.

"In my office."

"In the Pentagon?"

"Sad to say, that's where my office is these days."

"I need something more private than that."

There was a long pause.

"You OK?"

"Jack..."

"Call this number in thirty minutes," Jack said, and rattled off a number quickly. Daniel memorized it and hung up.

When he called back again in half an hour Jack said, "What's going on, Daniel?"

"Nothing," Daniel said, a little breathlessly. "But I needed to ask you something."

"Shoot," said Jack, sounding even more confused than before.

"You've been doing this a long time, Jack. You're a general. Do the ends justify the means?"

He could almost hear the wheels turning.

"No," Jack said quietly. "The ends never justify the means. But sometimes there are ends that are absolutely necessary, and then you use whatever means are at your disposal to achieve those ends, even if you sell or sacrifice or kill a piece of yourself to do it. There's no point in trying to justify it. The goal must be achieved. On days when I still believe in God, I fully expect to end up right back in Hell when it's all over."

Daniel didn't know how to respond to that.

"Daniel, what's going on?" Jack asked. He sounded worried. Maybe even frightened.

"I love you," Daniel blurted, before he could lose his nerve. Which was stupid. Because Jack was in Antarctica and no one had figured out how to fix his brain and the Ori were coming for them if the Replicators didn't get them first and telling the man on the other end of the phone he loved him didn't matter at all.

Daniel found that he was crying and struggled to keep the tears out of his voice. The stuffiness would just sound like his usual springtime congestion.

"Daniel," came Jack's reply, a sigh transmitted electronically across a continent. "What's going on?" he asked again.

"Gotta go, Jack," he said, and hung up.

When Teal'c tried to smash Mitchell's brains out, Daniel thought it was exceedingly unfair. After all, it wasn't this Mitchell that had brought them all this way. And it wasn't even their Mitchell who had thought up this horrible plan.

Standing on 455 again, Daniel had a strange feeling of relief.

"So you kept your hands clean after all," said Jack.

He might have been approving. Or he might have been mocking. Daniel couldn't tell anymore. He wondered if that meant he really was losing his mind.

Sam dialed the SGC. The seventh chevron wouldn't lock.

"I love you," Daniel thought, and turned and walked away from the Gate into the sparse vegetation and dunes. He remembered it was cold in Antarctica.

They were all gone. He had watched himself in black, walking toward that open event horizon, being thrown back to whatever fate had driven them to such a desperate act. He wondered if they really did need the ZPM more than this universe. He wondered what they would find on the other side of that 3.4-second-long wormhole. He wondered if he ever looked that bitter or that defeated and if he didn't, how long it would be before he was far enough gone to try exactly the same strategy to save the universe as he knew it.

It was 3:37 am according to the digital clock on his microwave. Daniel found Jack sitting at his kitchen table, drinking hot coffee. It was the smell of it that had wakened Daniel from a fitful sleep in which he was dreaming about seeing himself in the endless reflections of two mirrors, but they weren't reflections, and they were all wearing black.

Daniel half-wondered if he was still dreaming. Jack was wearing a soft black turtleneck and a pair of fresh black jeans. He was watching Daniel over the top of his mug.

"You called me," Jack said.

Daniel blinked at him owlishly.

"When?"

"The other day. Before you left on the Prometheus."

Daniel shook his head.

"Maybe it was one of the other ones," Daniel said, pouring a cup of coffee.

"Maybe," Jack agreed. His hair was so strangely bright now.

He stood and walked across the small kitchen. He took Daniel's cup away and set it on the counter. He raised his hand to touch Daniel's cheek. His fingers lightly traced the seam of Daniel's slightly parted lips. Daniel would have backed away, but he was already leaning against the counter. He felt his face flush as Jack's eyes followed his fingers, then lifted to Daniel's searching for... Daniel didn't know.

"Jack..." he said.

Lips closed softly over his, as dark eyes watched him.

He thought about himself dressed in black, and he knew, suddenly, exactly who had called Jack.

If you're interested, all my stories, in order, from one page. Also, my fiction recommendations.

rydra_wong did a piece about the Black team. And Not Expecting Pardon. Totally independent and not related, but it reads as a nice follow on to this one.

For my loyal